Taking It
by Ivory Novelist
Summary: Bobby and Jack both dream their first night back in Ma's house and end up comforting each other. No slash. Please read and review.


A/N: More random fluffiness. I lurve this movie and these guys.

**No slash!**

Congrats to the Carolina Hurricanes for winning the Stanley Cup!

And please, those of you who pray, please pray for me. I'm in pain.

* * *

_Taking It_

* * *

_Even though it was a hospital, it looked and felt like a bad dream – at least to Bobby. He wandered back and forth between walls, never straying from the hallway or far from his mother's door. His father would reappear every now and then, reassuring him that it wouldn't be much longer, only to disappear again for what seemed like a longer wait than before. Ten-year-old Bobby shuffled along the tile, refusing to go sit with his grandmother in the waiting area, and she watched him in between magazine articles, smiling fondly to herself and shaking her head. _

_Bobby had only ever been to the hospital once before, when one of the older neighborhood kids hit him too hard with a hockey stick. The colors had been the same – a dead white, a gray that felt like darkness but left the white alone, metal glinting in different directions. The lights weren't strong enough to fill the wide spaces, and he swore he could still smell the needles and the water that wasn't water. It scared him, even if he never showed it. _

_He danced to pass the time – if it could be called dancing, the slow turning, watching his sneakers make messy circles. He had wanted to watch his mother, but his parents had told him no. It was taking too long now, and he wanted to go home and watch TV. He didn't need anyone to play with anyway. _

_After making three trips to the nearest vending machine with his grandma's money, his father came out in the hall again, looking happy but in a way Bobby had never seen before. _

"_Come in and see, Bobby," his father said, and Bobby followed him toward the door without taking his hand. Bobby didn't need to hold anyone's hand. He wasn't a little kid. _

_But as he got closer to the door, until he began to slip past it, he felt nervous. He had never done this before. He didn't know what it would be like. _

_His mother smiled wide – the kind of smile that he would remember for years and years, whiter and brighter than any of the lights in these halls, with eyes so beautiful, Bobby would rather wish on them than the stars. _

"_Hi, baby," she said, voice different – like his father's face had been. "Come meet your brother." _

_Bobby approached her without a hint of apprehension, pushing himself up on his toes and leaning against the handle bars attached to the bed. His mother moved the bundle a little, making it easier for him to see inside, and when he looked, it surprised him. _

_It wasn't that he had never seen a baby before. It was just something about this baby that hit him like a hockey puck in the gut, only without the pain. Two, blue eyes opened up from the pink face, bigger and brighter than Bobby could have imagined, and Bobby was suddenly – in love. _

"_Bobby, this is your brother Jack," his mother said. But Bobby didn't hear her. Those eyes stared into his, and he looked into them, feeling as if he had been thrown up into the air without falling back down. _

"_You're a big brother now, son," his father said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It's an important responsibility."_

"_You can protect him, Bobby," his mother said, smiling and eyes shiny but out of Bobby's sight. "And he'll love you always. No matter what happens, you'll always have each other." _

_The eyes slowly closed, one after the other, and Bobby shook his head a little, blinking. _

"_Why don't you give him a kiss, honey?" his mother suggested. And Bobby, for once, didn't protest. He leaned, carefully, teetering against himself and the bed, fighting not to fall over. He kissed the top of Jack's head, hoping his mother was right about everything. _

* * *

Bobby hit the mattress with his leg, coming to, taking a minute to realize he was in the dark. He groaned as he rolled out of bed, rubbing his head and glancing at the digital clock. 2:35 AM. Fuck. He groped around in the dark, finding the wall and the door soon after, and he scuffed out into the hall, having no idea what he was doing. Everything sounded quiet. Somewhere in his brain, he noted how it didn't feel as good as it should, knowing Jerry wasn't asleep here too.

The eldest Mercer brother swung over toward Jack's door, pushing it open just enough to let himself in, and sat none too carefully on the bed, his youngest brother's form like a 3-D map of an island, sprawled under the blanket and sheets.

"Jack," Bobby said quietly, still half-asleep. He could barely make out Jack's shoulder quivering. He murmured the name again.

"What do you want, Bobby?" Jack answered, his voice almost unrecognizable. He sounded like he had when he had first come to live with the family, Bobby realized.

"What's wrong? Can't sleep?"

"I _was_ sleeping."

"You're a bad liar, Jackie."

Bobby knew his brother was crying. He didn't need to turn on a light.

"It's okay," he said. "She was our Ma, for God's sake. No shame in cryin' for that."

"It's not just that," Jack whispered, sniffling, clutching the corner of his pillow as he had done since childhood.

"What then?"

Bobby sat unanswered for a moment, listening to Jack trying not to sob.

"Just go back to bed," his brother said weakly.

"You ain't gettin' rid of me that easy, Jack. Tell me what's up."

Jack breathed in tight, squeezing the pillow in vain.

"Nothin'," he said. "Just a dream."

"Yeah? I had a dream too."

Jack sniffed and sniffed, the tears spilling stealthily in the safety of deep night.

"I just wish – that we were real brothers," he said. "I wish we had been together since the start, not – not put through all that shit, lost time." He was wiping at his face now, uselessly, as Bobby frowned. "I just wish it had always been good."

He whimpered, trying so hard not to, and Bobby at last touched him, began to rub the back of his shoulder.

"We _are_ real brothers, Jack," he said. "I know what you mean – but we are real brothers."

Jack choked, coughed a little, rubbed at his face again.

"Come 'ere," said Bobby, and Jack didn't hesitate. He sat up, half-sobbing, and fell into Bobby's embrace. Bobby held him without even thinking of being a smart ass; this was not one of those times. He knew he was the comforter tonight, but he also felt comforted, as he always did whenever one of his brothers shared affection with him. He remembered doing this with Jack countless times before, when his brother was still shorter than him, and it hadn't changed much.

"It's gonna be okay, Jackie," he whispered. "I don't know how – but it will be. Don't you worry. I'm going to take care of things. I promise."

"Oh, Bobby," Jack said, and Bobby's chest stung, remembering Evelyn. His brother squeezed him, the pain lessened but not gone.

"I wish we had had each other from the beginning too," Bobby thought out loud. "I would've never let anything happen to you, not once."

Jack pressed his eyes shut, turned his face into Bobby's neck.

"I'm going to make up for all this time we've all been apart," said Bobby. "I'm going to make things right, the way Ma would've wanted it."

They sat together for a while longer, before coming apart just enough to look at each other, and Jack asked Bobby to stay with him, just until he fell asleep again. Bobby almost smiled, whispering his agreement, and he sunk down onto the carpet, where he had sat earlier that night, as Jack settled back down into bed. Bobby waited a little while, before stroking his brother's back, just as he did when they were younger. It always sent Jack into a good sleep.

As Bobby stroked, he vaguely remembered his dream. He could've been bitter about the illusion – a happy family, biological parents who loved him and each other, that young and pretty mother, the grandma giving him snack money, Jack born right to him. But he wasn't bitter, not at all. Maybe it hadn't been so peachy from day one, but he would never regret having what he had. Let the world end before Bobby Mercer was ever called sentimental, but he knew that he had more than most people, even if his car was a piece of a shit and he had no woman to call his own and he occupied some of the grittier parts of the world. He had a family and their love, the kind that was still real even after spending the last five years away from it.

"Love you, Jackie," he said. And maybe, just maybe, Jack heard the murmur in his sinking sleep.


End file.
